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Soft sunlight filtered through the windows of the monastery, dappling the hallways with color cast from stained glass. The gentle ringing of bells echoed across Garreg Mach Monastery, reverberations lingering in the air in the aftermath of each strike. Birds fluttered outside with wyverns and Pegasi, the sky behind bathing them in the orange light of sunset.
Rhea sat in her chambers, watching from above as the knights and students started to move towards the dining hall for dinner. If she listened closely, she could even hear their conversations, alight and joyous—this was a world at peace. Even though Rhea knew there was darkness lingering, tensions and schemes that had been rising for centuries slowly bubbling to the surface—if she focused on only this scene, there was no strife in sight.
She let out a slow breath, allowing herself to take comfort in this calm, to let it sink into her bones. Rhea so often lived in the past that it was somewhat rare for her to sit like this, without thinking of sorrow or wrath. In truth, her mind had never really left the Red Canyon.
When she was alone, the stress of those memories would bring a dark cloud into her eyes. She had seen it herself; her gaze would drift to her mirror, across her own reflection to find the familiar face of Seiros staring back at her. But, at this moment, she didn’t feel that weight dragging her down. Her eyes were bright and hopeful—Rhea’s eyes.
She set down her hand mirror, looking once more to the courtyard. Even if her mind ever-lingered in the past, it wasn’t wrong for her to take in the present.
The muffled sound of a knock on her door brought her out of her thoughts, and she blinked, realizing that she herself had missed the dinner call. This would be Cyril now, who always came to tidy up her chambers after dinner. She called out to greet him, and the boy entered, nodding to her briefly before getting to his work.
This was usually how it was between them, a silent companionship. She watched Cyril clean, the boy’s movements practiced and rote. If he noticed her eye, he paid no mind to it, focused entirely on his task.
He was different than most people who were involved in Rhea’s life. He wasn’t devout, a rarity ever since she had named herself Saint, let alone Archbishop. While there were knights in service who focused more on their secular duties than their faith, it was unheard of for them to be close to Rhea.
Cyril was a surprising exception. Others would think that his being Almyran would be what made him unusual here, and to a degree, it was, but to Rhea, there was more. Cyril was familiar to her, as though she had known him for a long time already.
“What direction did you wish your life to take before coming here, Cyril?”
The boy jumped when she spoke—he was still young and enamored—she remembered people around her often having those feelings, and reacting to her in that way. Even when she presented herself as one of them, only human, it was almost like they knew in their hearts that she was different. Perhaps there was something in how she carried herself or how she spoke.
Regardless, in her experiences before, even those who treated her like this would often grow and change. Their respect would never vanish, their dedication would only grow, but they would become more comfortable, more self-assured.
Cyril reminded her of previous companions in that, and she knew that one day he would cease to be intimidated by her. She could already see his potential shining bright in those dark eyes—she eagerly awaited the day he could look at her and speak his mind, truly and without reserve. Just like those she had known before, Cyril would be a worthy advisor.
“Before coming here? To the Monastery, you mean?” He tilted his head, dark curls bouncing with the movement. “…To be honest, I never really had time to think about anything other than finding my next meal.”
Rhea leaned forward, “Say you were able to find security and safety enough to live—what do you think you would have wanted in Almyra?”
“Nothing,” the boy said, his tone almost biting, a bit of his true self shining through—the face he rarely showed to Rhea herself.
“Does the concept trouble you?” she asked.
“…Why does it matter? I’m here now, and this is where I want to be. I don’t understand why I would want to dwell on my past.”
“I would disagree,” Rhea’s voice softened, her mind wandering even as she spoke, “Our pasts, whether we like them or not, make up a large part of who we are—it is important to keep them in mind, to remember how they formed us. Thinking on your past reminds you why you are here today—it reaffirms one’s convictions. Although, I admit that my question wasn’t just intended to make you reflect, it is honestly something I am wondering.” Where do you think you would’ve gone, without me?
Cyril listened, pressing his lips together in a frown. It took him a few moments to reply, but eventually, he spoke, “I hated where I was,” the boy’s brows were furrowed, drawn down over his brown eyes, “Anywhere I could’ve gone would’ve been a dead end. No matter where I ended up in Almyra, I don’t think I’d ever be happy there. The people…” he trailed off, twisting his fingers into his cleaning rag, “I didn’t respect them. They didn’t respect me neither. There was nowhere for me to go, there. No future at all.”
“I understand,” Rhea said quietly, her eyes softening in sympathy. That was a reason many followed her—she offered them a way out, a new beginning. Rhea and Seiros had both offered the downtrodden somewhere to belong.
She was glad that Cyril had met Rhea and not Seiros—that he lived during this era of peace rather than the bloody conquest of her past.
~~~
Only in the late evenings, when alone in her chambers, did Rhea allow herself to dress a little more down. She took the heavy mantle off her shoulders and the headdress off her head, leaving her in the simpler elegance of her white dress.
A part of her thrived in this life—leadership, peacemaking, and speaking of her mother daily. It was different than her life as a solider, wearing armor covered in dirt and marching with armies. That had suited her as well, suited Seiros, but as Rhea it was near impossible to imagine herself on a battlefield in quite the same way.
Seiros had been in the center of it all, moving alone against threats bigger than the human mind could comprehend. She hadn’t been worried about keeping secrets. Everyone following her had known that she was chasing her mother’s killer. Meanwhile, Rhea kept a million secrets, living with them under her lips, and it rendered her unable to speak with that same honesty.
Even alone, she was guarded, as at any time someone could knock on the door, and it must be the face of Rhea that they met.
Her attitude proved prudent, as this was yet another evening where she was to be interrupted. She hardly minded—it was often a requirement of her station.
It was Catherine, alongside the knights she had been dispatched with, returned at last to report their findings. Rhea listened, not reacting to the way the others seemed uncomfortable to see her like this, out of her regalia. Catherine was unbothered—this was hardly the first time she had returned to report so late.
After a brief conversation, the others departed, leaving Catherine lingering with her, enjoying the cool air of the eve. Rhea watched her out of the corner of her eye, admiring Catherine’s surety, her absolute confidence in how she held herself. There was no hint of the demoralized and haggard warrior she had been when they had first met.
Rhea thought on her conversation with Cyril, but mere hours ago. She sighed, stretching her fingers over the wood of the table between them. “Catherine, if you were not following me, where do you believe you would be?”
Catherine’s expression immediately soured, an icy edge suddenly forming, sharp, in her eyes. “…Why ask? Such a hypothetical isn’t worth even considering—the truth of my life is where I am today, not where I was, and certainly not where I could have gone.”
Rhea laughed lightly, covering her mouth with her hand—Catherine’s candidness was something she adored. “I mean no offense. I am simply curious of your thoughts—where you would find yourself in a world without me.” Rhea shook her head, sighing softly, “…That sounded much more conceited than I meant it—I only wish to know what you think.”
Catherine seemed briefly at a loss, frowning in thought.
“Where would I be? I’d be alive, I suppose,” Catherine said, and Rhea smiled at her doubtlessness. “But…it wouldn’t be much of a life—I’d be a sell-sword, I imagine. Just another mercenary out on the road without any sense of true purpose—without a reason to be fighting. It would be an empty life, without the Knight of Seiros.” Catherine turned, her eyes bright with the flickering of candlelight, “Without you, Lady Rhea.”
“I am honored to have you by my side,” Rhea replied, offering her a gentle gaze—she knew she was lucky to have Thunder Catherine in her service, and Rhea’s respect for her ran deep.
Silence fell between them then, comfortable and familiar, leaving Rhea to her thoughts.
Catherine, perhaps, would’ve faired better in Seiros’ day, before any of the power structures that had harmed her had even truly existed. If Catherine had left her family to stand on Seiros’ side of the battlefield, she would’ve been nothing but respected.
Rhea remembered those like her, the soldiers of her past—her dearest and most loyal companions. Before her current life, she would’ve stood right beside Catherine on missions, paving a way through armies for her companion-knights to follow, but that was something Catherine would never know of Rhea.
Unlike those relationships Seiros had, those close companionships of fellow warriors, there was a wall between Rhea and Catherine. She was Catherine’s ‘Lady Rhea’, not a true ally to her in the ways that mattered to warriors. A part of Rhea regretted that, longing for the trust that had come with shedding blood together, of risking your life for each other against the enemy. She would never have that with Catherine, even though she could see in her the echoes of her past.
Eventually, Catherine said goodnight, leaving Rhea in solitude once more. Rhea knew that her thoughts would not grant her sleep, and so she paced around the hallway just outside of her chambers, ruminating on the day—on Cyril and Catherine.
People would always be drawn to her. Each would touch her differently, unique additions to the tapestry that was her long life. It was inevitable that they would, as she was a leader—there would always be those who would find and follow the footsteps of the path she forged ahead. Rhea would look back at her allies, would know and appreciate them, but she would inevitably outlive most who walked behind her. The shadows of their memory would remain with her forever, dooming her to recognize similarities between those she knew and those she had known.
As long as Rhea walked upon this land, people would be drawn to follow her. Their footsteps would echo alongside her own with the resounding pound of an army. No matter how many fell, to time or to war, more would rise to take their place. They would always come, as though called by fate.